


Dreaming

by 221b_hound



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Temporary Character Death, Doctor John Watson, Episode: s03e03 His Last Vow, Gen, His Last Vow Spoilers, Missing Scene, Sherlock flatlined, john thought he was dead, short story not dead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-05-16
Packaged: 2018-01-24 23:56:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1621637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/221b_hound/pseuds/221b_hound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is shot in Magnusson's office and John's training kicks in. He could provide trauma care in his sleep. HE wishes he was sleeping. Then this could be just another nightmare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> On Tumblr, 221bhudders made a wish that s4 would have a flashback scene of john in the hospital being told that Sherlock flatlined but came back on his own, and for John's reaction. 
> 
> So I wrote this in 40 minutes during my tram ride to work.

It's been a while since he's been in the field, but John could still provide trauma first aid in his sleep.

Part of him - the part that's not stemming blood flow from the bullet wound, monitoring his patient for shock, checking his vital signs - is wishing he was asleep. That this was a dream. Just another nightmare.

Behind all of that, there is a voice in his brain saying _no, no, no, please, not again, I can't do this again. Please. Please. Oh, God, please let him live. Please._

Mostly, he is just working steadily, inexorably, determinedly, to save the life in his care.

They nearly don't let him into the ambulance when it arrives, and he nearly punches the paramedic. Instead, he lies and says he's Sherlock's fiancé. He doesn't have to fake the wetness in his eyes.

He sits up near Sherlock's head and watches them work, like he used to monitor the field teams in that other life. He goes to stroke Sherlock's curls but stops short. His hands are covered in blood. Real blood. Sherlock's real blood this time.

_I can't do this again. Please. Please. Let him live._

At the hospital he sits outside the emergency room. He can't pace. That would just wind up the spring and he'd end up yelling, snarling, punching things. People. So he sits, Now washed hands clenched, and listens to the heart monitor in the other room, its clinical blip markng erratic time.

He hears the heartless sound become truly heartless. One long beep. The sound of his soul torn to pieces again. Burned to ash. Made dull and grey and colourless and numb. He thinks he hears the beep start up again, but he's pretty sure this is now the dream he wished for. Wishful thinking. 

He tries to keep breathing. To remember how to do that without half of himself. 

A door opens. John doesn't look up. He doesn't want to read in a stranger's eyes the truth of his cindered soul. 

"Dr Watson?" 

He nods, barely a movement at all. 

"We lost him for a minute there, but we got him back. Your fiancé is still in a very serious condition, but we have every hope of a recovery." 

By the last word, John is looking up at this stranger who is giving him a door out of the nightmare. 

"He. But I. But. I heard. He. He died." 

"For a few seconds, yes." 

"How long?" 

The doctor doesn't want to say. 

"I'm a doctor. I served in Afghanistan. How long?" 

"Thirty four seconds." 

"I was dead for longer than that," says John, unaware he's speaking aloud. He's also apparently unaware of the tears dripping from his chin to his shirt. "Minute and a half," he says, "Another forty seconds on the table after they dug the bullet out." 

The doctor presses a kind hand to his shoulder. "We didn't lose him for long. And he seemed to come back of his own accord. We don't expect there to be any lasting damage." 

John nods. 

He thinks: _short story. Not dead_. 

And then he laughs and laughs and cries and laughs because Sherlock Holmes is a wanker. An utterly brilliant, completely glorious, total bastard, and he doesn't have to try to learn to live without him again. 

And because he knows he isn't dreaming.


End file.
